Free Evil Dreams by John Tigges Page A

surgical scrubs, just as he had during the first angiogram.
    “Good morning, Mr. Ward,” he said softly. “We’ll be ready to start as soon as we make our incision.”
    Rodgers turned, passing out of his range of sight, but Jon could see the young man and girl who had accompanied him on the elevator going through the door by which he had entered. Then Trina came in.
    In seconds she stood at his side. “Everything will be all right, darling,” she said quietly.
    “I know it will.” He took her hand, squeezing it is his. “Don’t be upset with me. Don’t worry about me.”
    “I will worry. It’s my prerogative.” She flashed her best I love you smile.
    He grinned, pointing to his head. “I don’t think they’ll find anything new except more jumbled up plot lines and some pretty wild characters I haven’t put down on paper yet. That and a lot of thoughts about you.”
    She bent, lightly kissing him on the mouth.
    “You’ll have to leave, Mrs. Ward,” the male nurse said. “You can wait down the hall or return to your husband’s room. We shouldn’t be too long.” He smiled confidently, dispelling any last minute fears for either patient or spouse.
    She calmly returned the young man’s look and waved to Jon. ” ‘Bye, honey, see you soon.”
    He watched Trina crossing the room and relaxed with the thought that tonight, tomorrow at the latest, he would be able to go home.
    The male nurse stepped aside when the other nurse came forward to cover Jon’s lower extremities with a green cloth. He could see a small hole when the woman flared it out to settle in an open position. Moving it around, she placed the opening over the area that had been prepared.
    Dr. Rodgers came into view again and the two nurses stepped back. He examined the opening and grunted, “Xylocaine.” In seconds, one of the nurses appeared, handing him a vial.
    The doctor shot a stream of anesthesia away from the table, expelling any remaining air from the syringe. Jon felt a prick as the needle entered his leg, a comforting sensation of numbness spreading quickly.
    “Feel this?” Rodgers asked after several minutes, pinching the flesh through the cloth close to the exposed spot.
    Jon shook his head.
    “Get me an Amplatz needle, Joanie,” the doctor ordered. The young nurse turned to an instrument tray, quickly handing the device to him.
    Jon spotted a monitoring TV set and could see the incision being made. He turned his head away just as Rodgers inserted the large needle.
    Rodgers positioned the X-ray tube over Jon’s head. Satisfied it was set properly, he went to the machine which would record the journey of the dye about to course through the patient’s head.
    “First, a test dose,” he said from across the room. The woman tending Jon’s incision, responded to the order.
    Jon tried not to pay attention to the terse dialogue. He had blotted the room out of sight by closing his eyes tightly. Now, he would only have to concentrate on shutting out the voices of the doctor and nurses.
    “Inject the first dosage, Joanie.” Rodger’s voice seemed distant, remote.
    Jon felt queasy, a wave of nausea firmly entrenching itself when he heard the voice of the radiologist say, “Inject the IRS again and—” When the voices faded, he tentatively opened his eyes. He remembered when he had had the same test last week that there had been several injections. The sensation of heat emanating from his face and head would feel highly concentrated as the iodinated radiopaque substance passed through the blood vessels in his skull. Maybe there would be complications this time. He should have rebelled at the idea of a second test. Hadn’t he been warned the last time that something could go wrong? But he hadn’t really been consulted about this test. He had slept the whole night and awakened to find Trina at his bedside. She had told him of the impending test and in his bewildered state, merely nodded. Hadn’t the doctor said last week the